Misery Made Beautiful
by cheeseboi
Summary: [DMHP]Sixth year brings unexpected feelings towards Draco. His cold demeanor warmed by another. Denial, confusion, and love all comes along with this new relation. NO HBP SPOILS
1. Crossing Borders

_Summary:_ The love that holds you gently. The pain that grips you tightly. He was the one you've hated. He was the one you love. But he has forgotten all of it.  
Set in Draco/Your POV.  
In sixth year, Harry is pained by what has happened the previous year. Draco shows him that pain is foolish when kept inside. Denial of feelings grow, yet they accept it cautiously. Letting it build and create bliss with twists.

_Warnings:_ SLASH! Lots of OOC. Events go fast, as my intent to once be a one-shot.

_Disclaimer:_ Harry Potter belongs to J.K Rowling. You've got to be crazy if you thought HP was mine.

_Author's Notes:_ This was suppose to be a **ONE-SHOT**! But I got carried away. The beginning may seem extremely undetailed, uneventful, and fast but it was because when I was writing, my mind was on a one shot. But suddenly I thought of a plot. Wrote all the things trailing to the plot. And than BAM! I have a story.

I don't like this style of writing a story, but I've started and I dare not to change everything. I know if I do, I'll screw everything up.

So excuse the poor quality. It WILL get better and not so vague. This is my FIRST Harry Potter fiction, mind you. Don't worry, I am SO completing this, since I've already written the damned ENDING! I just need to fill up the middle, and viola, I'm done. D

Enjoy!

* * *

You hate him. You always have. 

You have learned through the years to hate his voice, the smooth dialect that escapes through the delicate pink lips. You have learned to loathe the dark raven hair that you have sent stares to so often, you have memorized every curve and place of every strand. You have seen those shining emerald eyes, the ones that look at you with rage and disgust, with sadness and doubt, and with curiosity and innocence. The ones that are etched in your mind whenever that name comes to hear. And then the feeling would come, pleasantly pulsating through your blood and giving joy to your body and mind.

But then you remember you hate him and it all goes away.

He is walking towards you and you catch his eye. A growing urge to hear, speak, and touch arouses through you as he gets closer. Plastering on your most evil smirk, only reserved for him, you approach and stand in front of him. Towering over him a few inches, you fall into the depths of forest green, trying to find the shine and twinkle in his eyes, but it's not there. You hiss at the accusing new eyes having not been able to see the old ones for so long.

He has changed and you can't stand it. It doesn't worry you and of course it doesn't affect you, it simply just.. bothers you. So you can't help but double your run-ins and arguments with him, to hope to find the old him there. But every time you find him, you hardly recognize him.

"Potter." you force a growl, trying hard to sound hateful. You wait for an answer, but only get the expressionless face. He hasn't been retaliating normally lately. Whatever you say, whatever you do, only earns you nothing from him. You want to grab him, to demand what is wrong. You want to hear the explanations, so your mind may rest with ease at the newfound news. And you want no longer to spend sleepless nights pondering and wondering about the boy.

Instead you shoot an insult at him, square and right on target.

"You should be dead." you insult with a sneer. You watch the eyes flash, an unfamiliar malice racing through the depths. His lips quirk into a smirk, and you remember he does not smirk, he grins, smiles and laughs. You narrow your eyes and wait for his words.

"I know." and he walks away, leaving you there.

**x.x.x.x.x**

He has distanced himself from his friends. No longer is he walking with that Mudblood and Weasel, instead he stalks the halls alone, head held low. You hear that the two others had given up on the boy, leaving him. There's anger penetrating every time you see him alone and you want to kill, yet you push it away. You remember you should be rejoicing that your enemy is being put down and falling without any safety. That he will reach rock bottom and die there.

It eases the urges and feelings and fills you up part way.

The majority of Hogwarts' population has decided to help ease his despair and perhaps get on his good side. You see them smile faintly at him, trying to catch his eye. They wave and shout greetings, hoping to be heard. Yet he walks obliviously, not noticing the commotion around him.

You follow him as far as you dare; to the staircases of the Gryffindor Common Room, to the doors of his classes and the frequent visits to the washrooms. You watch him eat in the Great Hall, or perhaps, pick at his food as nothing gets through those tightly closed off lips. You always find him reading in the library, and you just tell yourself it's a coincidence. He reads the same book, chin in palm and gazing blankly at the pages. Sometimes he's him asleep and you find that was the only time he looked familiar to you.

Then one day you, you enter the library and see him, asleep and serene. You pass by his table, just to walk to the bookshelf behind him. But once you see him, your insides jump at the site. There is a small pool of glistening blood flowing freely from under his hand. His cheeks stained with twinkling tears and his face contorted in strained pain. Before you can stop yourself, you are beside him, shaking him awake.

His eyes open and they are full of innocent fear. He sees you and the trait disappears from existence and, instead, closed off barriers cover the entrance in his eyes.

"What do you want?" he says quickly, shock relevant in his tone. You back away, seeing that you had almost crossed the line that separates you and him.

"Seeing if you were dead." you say, and quickly wipe the effect of concern away with a sneer and you add, "Too bad you're not. Pity, really."

He sighs tiredly and looks at you with determination. You have seen that face many times before. He uses it with the teachers, with people who question his well-being, and once to use it for his friends. Though, inside you see right through it. Underneath that thick surface, lies pools of distress and helplessness. You see his struggle and his lack of energy. When you see that face, you get the feeling he wants to die. As if he's lived through too much to breathe another gulp of life's essence.

You don't understand why he does that, neither do you understand why you see it.

"Leave me alone, Malfoy." he says lazily.

"Why? And miss a chance to find you dead?" the words you find are getting harder to come out, as you no longer use them with full force. "I'd love to see that filthy Mudblood crying over your dead body." It was much easier to insult his.. accompanies.

At this, his gaze is fogged up and even if he was looking at you, you get the distinct feeling he is gone. This look startles you slightly, simply because that look only existed from people who were really dead.

"You're making a mess." pointing to the crimson that blended with the burgundy wood table. He realizes this and snaps out of his reverie. Spotting the accusing liquid he hisses and grabs the end of his robes, desperately trying to soak up the blood. You sigh and with a flick of your wand, the mess is gone and all is clean. He blinks dumbly than it changes to fury. Most likely at himself or you. "Seriously, Potter. And you call yourself a wizard?"

He growls and stands up, holding the bleeding hand closely out of your view, yet you catch a glimpse of the source of pain. "Shut up," He doesn't even use your last name. He turns to walk away but you grab him, stopping him in his tracks. The tracks that are overlapped by so many others that it's hard to know which ones to follow.

He turns sharply to face you and you look down on him. His gaze travels to your hand that gripped his elbow, your fingertips white from the pressure.

"What?" he snaps, his eyes moving quickly to yours again. You don't answer, but instead you ask yourself the same question. "If you have nothing to say, let go of me."

You narrow your eyes and contemplate what to say. Nothing goes through your head except for one simple question, "Why?"

He tenses up, standing up straighter and locks his gaze more firmly on yours. He masks on the determined face and you want to pound him. He can't lie from you. You know something is dangerously wrong and is bothering the green-eyed boy immensely. You know he has changed probably for the worse. You know he is in pain and something inside you wants to stop this. You have inflicted hurt upon him, but never this much. Not even from all the times he had fought Voldemort, did he turn out this way.

You have wanted to know why for so long, yet never bothered to ask. You hate him. You always have. And when you hate someone, you care nothing for them.

"Why what?" but he knows perfectly well what you're asking him.

"If you don't tell me why you're doing this to yourselff, Potter," you warn, tightening your grip and moving closer to his face. "I will seriously beat the bloody crap out of you."

"It's none of your business," he says so softly you hardly hear him. You relax your grip and he takes his chance to escape. He walks quickly out of the library, hand still dripping with blood and into the corridor. You follow him, not letting him out of your site.

You've had enough. You can't possibly let him off that easily. Pinning him to the wall, the hall deserted, you shout at him. You shout at him because you want him to listen. You shout at him because you want him to hear you. You shout at him because you're afraid he may be too far to catch your words.

Glorious green eyes, like the fresh ripe grass that comes after a rainfall, stare at you, spotted with fatigue. The eyes that once reflected his every emotion and feeling; his pains and his joys; they ones that made him whole. The ones you have yearned to see again.

But now as you look upon him, you see mounds of barriers. Walls, chains, locks, and masks. They all hid what was inside. Locking his every sentiment that went through him, processing through his heart and mind, but unable to be shared.

You grow quiet, but he does not reply, looking at you with nothing in his gaze. There is a silence carving deeply into the atmosphere and you wait. You don't breathe, not making a sound as if approaching a wild creature. If you make any other sudden noises, they might run off again. You don't want that.

"Why do you care?" the silence departs and you breathe again.

"I _don't_ care." you say stubbornly and you watch his face fall. You suddenly realize that his face was full of something else.. was it hope? Had he hoped that you cared? Had he hoped that there was something between you and him besides that fleeting emotion of rich hatred and disgust; that maybe there was more?

Or maybe it was just you.

"Than let go of me." he makes no movements of struggle and you let go of his bony arms. He sighs again and looks down at his feet. You watch him still standing in front of you, waiting. Waiting maybe for him to run, maybe for him to shout, maybe for him to hit you.

But you did not expect his hand.

It's stretched out to you, sideways and pleading for yours to hold on to. You glare at it, narrowing your eyes as if it might hurt you anytime soon.

"I don't want to fight anymore.. so can we just.." he says, tiredness in his features. ".. just start over or something."

"What for?" you ask, raising an eyebrow. "You want to be friends _now?_" It seemed impossible to take his hand now. Not after years of brutal hate and living up to the name of enemies. It was like asking to own the world. Entirely unrealistic.

"If you want." he shrugs and thrusts his bloody hand forward towards you more. Hesitating you grasp the smaller hand, feeling the smooth skin against yours and the dried blood. And suddenly, it seemed you _could_ own the world.

"I'm Harry Potter."

"Draco Malfoy."

**x.x.x.x.x**

It has been lately two months since you had accepted Harry Potter's existence as someone other than an enemy. And within that time, you've learned a little more about The Boy Who Lived. How you had expected this, but turned out that it was completely the opposite from your predictions. You never imagined his childhood, how he was living in oblivion lapped with the utter pain of loneliness. Now as you think back, your foolish actions of hate must had made him even more miserable. You also find that his reckless acts of heroism were all topped with the infinite vast feeling of fear. As if you had thought he was fearless. Yet, as the eleven-year-old you once dreamed about Harry Potter being Draco Malfoy's friend, the concepts finally became true. And your younger self rejoiced.

It was definitely odd. The tensions between you and Harry broke and no longer do you fight nor hurt each other. Walking through the halls, passing each other created no fiery bolt of lightning or anger that brewed the strongest of winds. Instead, all was calm and euphoria reigned. It was a routine to spend at least one hour a day with the green-eyed boy. Sometimes studying, talking, or just content to soak in each other's presence silently.

During your serene meetings, the unanswered question of 'Why?' went through your mind constantly, pleading to be answered. But you don't dare to ask, knowing full well he will not tell.

You both know the walls separating Harry and you. It was impossible to see each other, as the walls were so tall and well-built. Only to hear the voices and know the other was on the other side was possible. You don't want to break the stone, afraid everything might tumble over and hurt him. Crush him. Kill him. Your true self and everything else that surrounds you is everything he hates.

You ask about Weasley and Granger. He says nothing. Only sighs and runs a hand through his messy hair. A burning jolt creeps through your skin, cutting the ice and melting it.

"They're just busy." he reassures you, but you feel like he is trying to convince himself too. "It's nothing."

"With what?" you smirk. "Are they too busy shagging each other senseless?"

His eyes widen in disbelief and shock. He throws a book at you, but you catch it easily because of your Seeker skills. Thankfully, Madam Pince did not see this, or Harry would've landed himself in some deep shit.

"I can't believe you just said that!" he practically yells, but the Gods do not feel like punishing him. Madam Pince was no where insight. "Urgh, you just sent me such a nasty mental image."

"What would be nastier," you say, trying to mimic Granger's textbook voice "is you shagging along with them. Oh, how thrilling threesomes are."

This earns you another book, with a few parchments knocking on your forehead. You grin with satisfaction and wit.

"You're a git, Draco." and he slumps back in his chair, picking up his quill and starting on his Potions homework. You mind forms a very naked Harry Potter, kissing and hugging someone. But you quickly push it away. You watch his fingers clasped onto the thin feather, and the delicate stokes upon the parchment. His face is contorted into a frown, probably resentful to start that piece of homework. You watch the emerald eyes, sparkling faintly, but still not like before. Suddenly, you see your own reflection upon the forest green and notice he is staring back at you.

Than with no thoughts whatsoever, you climb the wall and reach over the top, feeling the other's hand under yours.

* * *

_A/N:_ So, what do you think? I need _lots_ of of **CRITISM!** I don't care of it's not constructive. I need pure, hurtful, critism. And of course suggestions. 

For those who have read my work before, you know I always break my promises. But you see, my last story, my stupid sister deleted the chapters I had already written. And I was so put down, I stopped. Too much pain. -sniff-

Now, click and type away! (please)


	2. Denial Is Where I Swim

_Disclaimer:_ Is Snape treating Harry kindly? Is Sirius getting it on with Remus? Are Harry and Draco gay? DOES THE COVER OF HARRY POTTER SAY 'BY CHEESEBOI'?  
**No, thus I do not own Harry Potter, Warner Bros., Scholastic, or anything. **Except my imaginary naked Draco.

_A/N:_ I wasn't going to post this up, for another few days. But I'm impatient. And I guess no body else is either. But I just wanted to post this on.

Eh, Draco is _**so**_ OOC here. And I really hate it. But hey, I suck. End of story.

* * *

Sleepless nights are no longer spent wondering about the boy, but rather about your reactions around him. After that fleeting kiss in the library, you can't help replaying it over and over in your head and feeling the emotions. How his perfect pink lips fit on yours. How the gentle hesitant movement that indicated how innocent he was; only a beginner. How he allowed your tongue to fit through the lips and into his tiny mouth. How his own tongue rose to meet yours, battling each other, tasting each other, twisting and loving all of it.

Your hands had risen to his hair, intertwining the soft strands of black between your fingers. His own hands softly leaning against your back, gently touching. The smell of trees and pine roaming into your nostrils and your heart soared. As if a bird flying through the forest, free and enjoying the vast feelings.

It ends and you break apart slowly, opening your eyes to see the closed ones in front of you. The eyelids open, lashes rising to reveal the glowing verdant eyes and a smile graces your lips. There is a still moment as everything around you disappears, and left in the world was this boy, Harry Potter.

Yet the forces of the memory hits you hard unexpectedly, and realization dawns. Your smile disappears, his hands retreat. The sparkles in his eyes dim and the green darkens. You tumble and land back on your side of the wall, horrified and pained.

These thoughts were all so wrong. All these thoughts, feelings, emotions and dreams, they were not suppose to exist coming out of you. They were untouchable. Unattainable. Unforgivable.

_Unbelievable._

If anyone knew you harboured this erratic behaviour, certainly you will not live to see another day. Nor would Potter either. It had been a week since it and he had been ignoring you. He didn't want anything to do with you anymore. Besides, both of you were all too different. You are the heir of the darkness. A Death Eater's son and you're fate was in they're hands.You cringe at the sight of light. You back off with the slightest form of warmth. You were born in the eternal darkness, covered by the heavy blankets that suffocated you.

Harry was the ethereal angel of light. He is pure and perfect, untainted by the dark and neatly wrapped in protective goodness.

It was all wrong to begin with.

"Drakie!" a shrill cry lifts you away from your harsh river of thoughts, and Pansy Parkinson's face is mere inches from yours. You lift your hands to push her away, but a thought jumps in. A slow fake smile is found on your lips, and Pansy's own matched yours.

"Pansy, how about a walk?" The pug-faced girl smiled wider with glee, tugging you up and dragging you to the portrait. It was only three hours till curfew. Once out, she was clinging to your arm so hard that you wondered if your hand was receiving any blood circulation. Silence reigned with you guiding the both of you to a classroom. You find one and enter, inside you pin Pansy to the wall.

She has her eyes closed, her face leaning towards yours expectedly. Hesitantly, you wrap your arms around her slim body, covering her and pressing against her. Her breasts against your chest, and a feeling of discomfort drifts around you.

You have hugged and snogged many girls, all enjoying their body and their features. You have never had a problem with them and never cared. But now, somehow it all seemed so wrong. She was too tall, not slim enough. Her face was enhanced with make-up and it looked as if she had a mask on. She smelled too strong like perfume, fogging up your senses with the stinging scent. She didn't seem right.

Yet you ignore your thoughts, and focus on the task at hand. Leaning forward, you press your lips against hers, an unnatural taste of lip gloss rises as you stoke her lips with your tongue, feeling the wet surface. She kisses back, hard, eager and hurriedly, as if trying to eat you as much as you can before you are gone. You feel her hands stroking you under seductively in circles and rubbing her body against you even more. Her hand moves to your thigh, squeezing it and moving ever so slowly to your groin. You don't move, only vaguely kissing her.

You feel nothing. No spark, no arousal, nothing. All thoughts are fogged and unclear, blocked for your inner sight to see. Her forceful and rough kisses are lost inside you mouth. Her hands are distant and only a small brush to you. Her groans and moans, her pleads of your name cry out to your deaf ears. All thoughts escape your mind, all moving towards one target.

"Harry.."

Suddenly reality hits you hard on your head as you find Pansy staring at you, her black eyes wide in shock and disbelief.

"W-what did you say?" she stammered, "Did you just say.. _Harry_?"

"No, I didn't." With that, you kiss her feeling nothing and she dismisses this. You watch her, her eyes closed and cheeks stained in a blush. And you imagine just what Harry--

"--would look like when I'm kissing her?"

"Probably disgusted, Ron. I think you'll have more luck with... _Draco?"_ You pull quickly away at the harsh whisper of your name. Turning around, you see Potter, stock still with Weasley's back to you.

"Malfoy? You're off your rockers with that one..! Harry? Hello! Earth to Harry?" Weasley followed Potter's gaze, and the red-head sees you, arms around an ecstatic Pansy Parkinson, her lip gloss smeared. "Ew... I did _not_ need to see that!"

_But Harry saw that._

Potter is looking at you, all emotion devoured from his features. His eyes are dark, murky and a shady green. A flicker of something races through the depths of his irises. Panic rises in you and guilt drilled inside your chest.

Harry had seen you. Harry had seen you kissing her. And now he probably thought that kiss, the kiss in the library, was nothing but one of those mistaken brush of lips. Those quick ones that had no meaning whatsoever, behind it all. Ones that are used so the other may be taken away and have a quick arousal and release. To vent out anger and frustration. Ones like the one he was having with Pansy. Unfeeling and unmentioned the next day.

But the one he had with Harry. It was different. It was one that you would remember and that would occupy your mind every waking and sleeping moment. One that filled you up in dark empty times. Ones you lived over and over again, every time more vivid and memorable.

And it was the one that was driving you mad with unwanted emotions.

"Weasley," you almost choke, but somehow your voice is smooth.

"Malfoy." Potter interjected, taking the red-head's response. It takes you every ounce of power to glare back, narrowing your eyes and pushing away any emotions from your face. If he was not going to show and tell, neither would you.

"I suggest both of you Gryffindorks to return to whatever dump you came from. As you see, we're busy." Pansy said with a sneer, saving you from coming up with an insult. She leaned in, placing a chaste kiss on your lips but you pull away, suddenly frightened with her contact.

Why were you feeling so guilty? Why was there this dreadful empathy swirling inside your stomach with self-condemnation? There was nothing between you and Potter. You want nothing do with Potter.

_But you want everything to do with Harry._

"Shut up, Parkinson." Weasley's voice rang, his face in scowl. "I never asked to come see your snog show. C'mon, Harry, let's go."

Potter nodded, his glare still upon your eyes. Both of them turned around, walking to the door.

"Har--Potter!" he stops walking and you are surprised you had been the one calling him. Why were you calling Potter back? Let him leave, it's what you wanted. You want him to be gone, to leave your mind and let it go free. To go on without his constant presence lingering in your consciousness.

But you can't do that.

Years spent hating him. Years plotting against him. Years with him in your mind. Ever since he refused your friendship, you had been angry and most shocked. Then you had striven for his attention, promising he will regret the day turned you away. You insulted him, mocked him, picked fights because you wanted him to notice you as a high superior. You observed him because you wanted to know him and use your information against him. You joined Quidditch because you wanted to surpass him. You did things because of him.

"What is it, _Malfoy_?" he spat, dislike relevant in his tone, just like all these years had been. "Speak, or I'm leaving." He looked like he was demanding for a reason why you were there. A reason why you were with Pansy and why you were kissing her.

_Speak, or he'll leave you forever._

But you don't open your mouth, shutting it tight and looking away. You did not care if he left. You did not care what he thought of you. You didn't care.

He still looks at you, his features scrunched in disgust and hate, but his eyes remained fired up in failed hope and emptiness. You want to reach out to him, to fill up that emptiness, wash away that failed hope and refresh it with all you have. But you can't because angels and devils do not mix. Furious enemies show no mercy, no feelings towards each other, and absolutely no love.

It was never meant to be.

Now he turns away, walking out the door. His mocking back, fading away and gone.

**x.x.x.x.x**

Another day, another week, you find yourself alone. Another minute, another hour, you find yourself breathing with difficulty. Another day, another night, he is in your mind all the time.

This is too much. So much it overflows inside, but it still isn't enough. You stare at your cauldron in Potions class, trying not to look at him. Damn that Snape for pairing you up with Potter. For making you work together side by side, shoulder to shoulder, heart to heart.

"Hand me the slugjuice." you instruct, so very shocked your voice is working. He hands the small vial to you, fingers brushing slightly and an incredible amount of electricity bolts through you, stopping you momentarily. Your index finger still touched his thumb, and both of you had not moved.

"Er.." he says and you whip away from him, pouring the slugjuice inside the golden coloured potion. The swirling liquid turned to a faint sliver, sparkling against the dim light that lit the classroom. You work another few minutes in silence, trying as hard as possible to prevent any contact whatsoever.

Finally, you're done. The potion is gold on one side, sliver on the other. The colours only breaking into the other's territory once in a while, but is pushed away by the other each time. Potter puts a fair amount into a vial, labelling his name on it and yours; 'Harry Potter & Draco Malfoy.' He walks up to the front of the class, handing in the potion. You clean up and prepare for your next class.

Just as you swing your bag over your shoulder, something grabs onto your arm,feeling the familiar bolt. Your eyes travel from the thin arm, to the face of Potter, staring at you with a masked expression.

"Malfoy," he says in a slight whisper. You look around, hoping that maybe someone will save you, but your hopeless 'friends' are gone, leaving you stranded. Granger and Weasley are no where in sight and you quickly wonder how Weasley had ever been able to pass on to Potions N.E.W.T. Only a few Gryffindors were present with Snape, he was probably giving them a lecture. "We need to talk."

"About what?" you say, too tired to add menace to your tone. "I need to get to class."

"I just.. I just need to talk to you."

"Can it wait?" you start to walk away, but his arm is still firmly attached to yours, not letting you go.

"No, I want to talk, _now._" There's desperation and anger in his voice and you can't help but shiver a bit.

"Potter, there's nothing to talk about!" Though you knew there were tons of things to discuss with him. So much you can hardly count. Things that he probably would never know, and would never feel.

"_I_ have something to talk about." he says, narrowing his eyes dangerously.

"Fuck you, Potter. Leave me alone." You try to wiggle from his grip, but his thin arms deceive his strong hold.

"No! I _need_ you to listen to me," he says, biting his lip almost as if he was nervous. "..please."

You can't help it. The urgent look in his eyes pulls you away from your stubbornness. Nodding, you scowl and follow him out of the classroom. Out in the corridors, it was fairly deserted except for the few tardy students rushing to class. You wonder just how much detention you will receive from Flitwick as you are never, ever late for a class. Sighing, you enter a classroom just two corridors away from Snape's. It was the same one you and Pansy were in last night.

Turning swiftly to face Potter, you fold your arms and glare at him, putting on a sneer clearly saying you'd rather be elsewhere. "So what is just _so_ very important that you just _have_ to make me waste my time with _you_." A downcast look spreads on his face and a tiny bit of regret at you words rise. But you remember that this is supposed to be a good thing.

"It's just.." he stammers, his eyes staring at the cold stone floor. "..just I wanted to know why.. why.." His full pink lips quiver, shining with saliva as his tiny tongue flicked across the surface.

"Hurry it up, Potter." you say impatiently when you know you could wait forever for him. "I don't have all day."

"Okay!" he shouts and surprising you faintly with the sudden outburst. "It's just.. I'm wondering what.. why you.. at.."

"Potter--"

"Shut up! Stop talking, I'm _trying_ to explain!"

"Well you're not trying hard enough. I can't understand when your stumbling through every sentence!" Your arms flared up in the air, expressing your supposed impatience. "Now speak fluently, Potter, or I'm not listening at all!"

"I-I can't believe you!" his voice louder. "You know what your problem is, Malfoy? You know what's _so_ screwed up in your already fucked up brain?"

"What? Tell me if you know me _oh-so-well!_" This was getting out of hand. Your anger was rising up to unnecessary heights rapidly. The unknown rage that was inside of you suddenly deciding to jump out of no where, only knowing it was in you till it was lashed out at another. "Tell me why my brain is so fucking _screwed_ up!"

You can hear his breaths growing harder and faster with fury. His flushed cheeks burning up the vivid green of his eyes. The forest was on fire, and water was no where in sight.

"It's because.. because you're an arrogant, inconsiderate, insufferable bastard who cares nothing about anyone except for his own selfish being!" his balled fist shook on his sides, and you can't help but feel more angry.

"Woah-oh, what big words little immature Scarhead is using." you mock casually, holding in you temper. "I'm _so_ surprised at your capability to pronounce these meaningless words!"

"Don't talk shit to me, Malfoy!" he yells, "I don't know what the hell is wrong with you! First you.. you do _that_ to me, than you go and ignore me for a week. Next thing, you..you're snogging _her!_"

You had not been ignoring him. When you had come too close, he would run down the other way, clearly saying that he wanted nothing from you. When you caught his eyes, he would look away, shame and fear masked in his pupils. And through those first few days, all you wanted was an explanation on why you were feeling this way, why he was not giving them back to you. Only after did you realize the horrible concept of your situation, desperately stopping the flow of emotions.

"Oh, I see. Wittle Potty is jealous!"

"I.. no. No! I'm not jealous!" he shook his head furiously and backing away from you, hitting the wall behind him and sinking onto the floor. A pang of sadness washes over you at his words. You stand firm, keeping narrow eyes on his slumped figure. "It's just that I don't know what you're trying to do. I mean.. you.. you're confusing me."

"Do you think this doesn't confuse me too?" you say softly, cautiously taking a step towards him. "You think that I'm happy about this?" He's silent, not answering you as he fiddles with his fingers, his eyes upon his hands. You want to sit beside him, to smooth those troubled features, to put out the burning fire so the forest may sprout back to life with all it's greenery and calm demeanour. But you don't.

You can't. You couldn't. You will not.

Harry is still sitting there, curled up in a ball looking so small and insignificant. But you know, insignificant could never describe him.

"What do you want, Draco?" he suddenly asks, his tone blank. What did you want?

_I want your friendship. I want a relationship. I want you. I want Harry._

"Nothing." you say, your voice flat and unfaltering. "This was a mistake. You and I are not meant to be mentioned in the same sentence, not without the word hate between them."

"What are you going on about?" Potter was up on his feet again, his fists shaking on his sides, bony shoulders scrunched together.

"I said it was a mistake." you say, than more quietly, "Everything was."

"So what you're saying, is that all this time, this, this.. this friendship, was a mistake? It meant nothing to you, didn't it?"

"No.. I mean--"

"I thought you changed! I actually believed there was something other than the Malfoy I've known for five years. But I was wrong!" Potter was stepping closer, his footsteps stomping against the cold stone floor, expressing his growing rage with power. You feel guilty and afraid of his anger because you had been the one causing it. It felt like you were drinking hot acid, dripping down your throat, burning it and ceasing your ability to speak. The acid continued to travel further into you, settling inside your stomach, thrashing and hitting your sides. "You're a slimy, worthless bastard just like those Death Eaters who can't save a thing, not even themselves!"

With difficulty, you push down you guilt, letting your anger rise high blocking any other emotion. "You've mistaken. I can very much save myself!" you say, trying to be calm. "But you Potter, is the only one who actually needs saving. With all your hopeless self-pity and pathetic depression, I wonder who will step up now that no one really cares. Not even your own fucking friends!"

"Don't you bring my friends into this! Ron and Hermion--"

"They bloody abandoned you! And here, I thought those two really loved you, when they really can't handle anything close to their discomforts!" You yelled, remembering the rumours. Remembered the two, walking around acting there was not a care in the world. As if Harry Potter was never in their lives, that their best friend was not suffering. They didn't care. "What kind of friends are they?"

"They're _my_ friends!" he says proudly, but you see the tears leaking from his eyes. "Ron and I are friends again, and it's okay now. It was my fault in the first place. I was.. I was annoying them.. I guess."

"How?" you yell, taking a step closer to him. "Annoying them by being depressed? How can they be annoyed when you're trying to fucking _kill_ yourself!" There you grab Potter's hand, whipping the robe sleeve up, revealing a trail of cuts. The rusty dried blood contrasted with the smooth pale skin of his wrist, criss-crossing each other in all directions. Each wound so deep, it was amazing he hasn't hit bone yet.

Even if the cuts were on Harry's wrist, you can't help but feel each stroke repeat itself deep inside you.

Potter pulls away, holding his hand to his chest in defence. "I... I-It.. this.." he grew quiet, no other attempts to form words. His eyes dropped, the same shame and fear in his presence.

"Why?" you ask, feeling as if it was the millionth time you've asked that question. And hoping that this time, you may receive something. Verdant eyes rise again, fire still present. The flames thrashing and dancing, but it was dull with the lost of the pained forest. "Why, Harry?"

"I don't know."

You want to yell, demand what was wrong. But you push the anger away, taking on the calm approach. "Fuck that, Harry. Just tell me."

"Draco.. I.. I can't. I just.."

"Why not?" he closed his eyes tightly, as if in pain. "Why can't you tell me?"

"You wouldn't understand." he said quietly, his tone sad and hopeless. If you were not pitying him at that moment, you would have taken a hard blow to his head, punching him and hoping to knock out his stupidity and stubbornness right out.

"Dammit, of course I won't!" Screw the calm approach, nothing will get through that dense head. "How will I ever fucking understand if you don't tell me everything that's bloody fucked you up!"

"Stop swearing!"

"You started it first!"

A small flicker of a grin graces his lips, but is immediately wiped off moments after your own smile emerged. Frowning once more, you sigh and look straight at him with a look of seriousness. "Harry, you can tell me. You can tell me anything. I'll understand."

"No! You won't," he yells, his voice rising. "You have no idea how I feel! You have no idea how it feels to be alone! You don't knowhow it feels to grow up unloved! Wishing that maybe one day, someone will come and claim you as your own!"

"At least they took you in." you suggested, tired of his outbursts. "Please, Harry, just tell me."

"I--I.. you won't--" he stumbles, his cheeks burning a red glow of anger and frustration. "Don't make me do this."

"You _will_ tell me what's wrong, Potter." you say firmly. "I did not come out here, skip my class, and get detention for nothing. You wanted to talk, and you will! You _will_ talk about what's bothering you, Potter!"

"I don't want to! And I thought you had nothing to say!"

"I've changed my mind, and don't be a stubborn prat, Potter." you say, knowing well you were also being slightly stubborn. "Just say it. Pretend I'm not here. You might feel better."

"But what if--"

"Do it."

A small moment of silence followed, while Harry was probably weighing his options. Than he nodded hesitantly and a sharp intake of breath was taken by him, as if trying to suck up as much courage to do what he had to next. Already you are pained at seeing the hurt expression on his face. Your heart aching even before the first words had fallen from his perfect lips.

"Living like this, is so hard."

Tears blurred your vision, but you can feel perfectly. Clinging on the shameful drops, you wait and listen.

"Sometimes I just wish I wasn't Harry Potter. I want to be normal. I.. I don't like.. no. I hate how the everyone expects so much. They weigh so much on me.. all their hopes.. their dreams, pains and responsibilities on to me. I have to kill him. I have to kill Voldemort. But it's so hard.. to.. to do that." his hand rose subconsciously to his scar, touching it with what looked like distaste.

"You don't have to. Someone else will." you say softly, hoping to lighten up his mood. Why would Harry think life was a burden? Why would he think he was responsible to be the world's Savior? No one deserved to think like that. Especially Harry.

"No." he says strictly after. His eyes were blank now, staring hollow at you. "I have to. That someone will be me. It's all in the prophecy. I have.. no choice, at all."

Choices. This world you lived in had choices. Your choices affected your life and choices freely expressed you. Choices that you chose.

But in Harry's world, all choices were plunged deeply in oblivion, defied in existent to his eyes. From birth, he had no choice to live and grow without love. To be taken into a family that hated him. His choice to grow and suddenly know you were the one that had taken Voldemort away. To be a celebrity and to know that everyone expected you to once again, banish Voldemort for good. To be watched constantly by others with gleaming wide eyes expecting and wanting.

Now you remember the words, the looks, and the fake smiles from all around that were directed at Harry. They all wanted it.

"I was chosen to this fate. He killed my mum.. my dad.. an--" he choked, his figure suddenly shaking.

"A-and what?" you whisper, feeling his anguish enter you. His agonizing pain clutching onto your every feeling.

"Sirius.. they killed him." he said, shaking violently. "He.. he was family. And.. he existed. He was alive... b-but now.. I'm so scared. I don't want anyone else to.. to die. To die because of me. God.. I think love is a curse for me."

"Love, a curse?" you try to laugh, but they only turn to choked gasps. "I'd think _everyone_ would be dead by now."

"Good." he says, pitch black curls falling over his eyes. "I don't.. want their love. I don't want anyone to die. I..I..don't want them to turn out like everyone else. Because I love them too much to see them die.

"It hurts.. too much. I-I.."

He was falling, broken and fractured. Harry's strong wings were injured because the devil had pierced a steaming arrow at him. If no one was going to catch him, he would fall right to the devil's hands. Someone had to catch him.

Someone save him.

Your arms wrap around his small figure, fitting perfectly in you. He was shaking uncontrollably, small painful moans emerging from him. You feel his own hands clutch your sides tightly, squeezing the nerves there. But you ignore the pain, as you know something else ached more. His breaths were coming out heavy and loud, his chest heaving in and out.

His face muffled in your neck, his warm breath tickling your pale skin. You know you shouldn't be doing this. You should stop this. Stop touching him. Stop holding him. Push him away because it hurts.

But wouldn't it hurt even more if you stopped?

You had heard Aunt Bellatrix boasting about killing Sirius Black and how Potter broke down at the concept. She was most delighted, but was careful not to be too much as she had failed to complete the Dark Lord's command. You were angry at that time that your Father was in Azkaban all because of him. So you had felt a large amount of joy because it evened it out. You lost your father and so should he lose his godfather too.

Yet now as you see him this way, it seems too much for him to pay for your own Father's arrest.

"He's gone.. dead.." Harry whispered, voice dripping with anger. His fingers digging deeper into your sides. "All because of them... all because of him. He killed them. He killed them all. HE KILLED EVERYONE I EVER LOVED!"

Tears dropped, burning your cheeks and falling sweetly on Harry's neck. You can't cry now. It wasn't like you. It was a sign of a powerless struggle. Emotions were weak, thus it would make you weak. Yet you still weep because what you feel at that moment was so significant, so huge, you cannot stop the feelings. Because the feelings were of Harry. And Harry was nothing but everything.

You feel Harry relax, his grip loosen and fall away. His breathing slower and softer. The rage and fire was gone and you feel it leaving him.

His head lifted slight so that his eyes were transfixed on the side your head. You turn around, and breath in a sharp gasp. He was so close. His nose tingling yours, his lips breathing air out and you feel the warmth. His glorious viridian eyes boring into your sliver ones.

And you lean in, taking the sweet lips before you. Intensity graced your every kiss as pleasure ran through your body like electricity. The power flew through you, capturing everything in you and feeding it to the kiss. The aroma of Harry drifting through your senses, and the feel of his body extricating your touch. His unmoving lips sent waves of growing passion to you, but it wasn't enough.

You wanted more.

Craving hands roamed his body and you push him back against the wall firmly. You kiss harder, wanting more and wanting Harry to retaliate. Your hand trails down his arm, feeling the soft robe and down to his hands. You hold on to his hand, soft velvet skin intertwining with your own calloused fingers. Harry's fingers are limp, free for you to move. But just then, his fingers flex, holding onto yours harder, almost crushing your bones. But you don't care as you feel bolts of fire emanate out filled with excitement.

Than his lips part, deepening the kiss and he kissed back. Desperation filled his movements and passion filled yours. You cling harder to him, afraid he may run away. Licking his wet lips, your tongue asking for entrance. And he opens up letting you slide. You explore, licking the sides of his mouth and his teeth. His tongue melting in yours, hot and wet, etched with the desire that you had kept much too long to yourself.

Your other hand travelled to the back of his neck, bringing him closer to you. He breaks the kiss, trailing butterfly ones around you cheeks, licking the salty tears away.Taking in a raspy breath, content on feeling his lips suck on your neck. You feel the hardness that surrounds under you, calling and tickling you with lust. And you press closer to him, feeling his own hard on against your thigh.

Suddenly he stops, and you whimper, pleading to resume. You look down, his eyelids half open in front of the ethereal glow of Harry's own eyes. Sparkling calm emerald, hot fire gone,as your own icy cold ones stared back. Leaning down, you kiss the soft skin of his forehead, caressing the tender surface.

"I thought you said it was a mistake." he whispers, closing his eyes at the feel of your kisses.

"I know." you kiss him again, his raven curls brushing against your forehead. "But I wanted to save you."

* * *

_A/N: _Eww.. I want to make Harry more angst-y, but than, it'll make Harry even more OOC. Before I wrote this, I thought that Harry should be snogging Ginny, and than Draco would take Harry's place in this chapter. But I thought otherwise, since Draco is suppose to be the one denying his likeness for Harry. And Harry just straight out denies any form of love. You might go, BUT WHY THE HELL IS HARRY SNOGGING DRACO? Because as I said, he's only denying love -cough-

**I want a BETA!** I need someone to motivate me. To give me PURE cristism. To give me productive SUGGESTIONS. And to take away the pain of editing. -evil laugh- So, if anyone is interesting, email me. (sorepetalAThotmail . com)


	3. Shut Up

_Disclaimer:_ No. No. NO! I don't own Harry Potter. -sigh-

_A/N:_ Ok.. it's been SUPER LONG since I've updated. Sorry guys! I've just been on writer's block.. boo. I read over what I wrote so far and it SUCKED. So I'm starting over. Hah. Um, this chapter isn't so amazing. It's short. Boo hoo.

Ok, to reply to one of my reviewers (REVIEWS! OMG!):  
_are you a boy? (seeing as your name is cheesboi):  
_No.  
_or are you a girl? (just under the name of boi)_:  
I'm a girl.  
_or is boi something secret that you don't want me to worm into?  
_No. Cheesegirl sounds gay. So cheeseboi is WAY better. Hehe.  
_or am i just high on additives and perhaps marujana and getting on your nerves?_  
NO! I love questions!  
_ill stop now and leave you with this: Harry's Green eyes are green and Draco's silver hair is silver. get it?  
_I think I do.. Did I do something wrong? -is very worried-

* * *

"Oh, c'mon Potter. Don't be like this." you smirk, looking at the saddened expression below you. It has been the sixth time you've pulled Harry out of the corridors, and lunch was just in a few minutes.

You kiss him again, joy riveting as he kissed back. Surfacing again, you find the same downcast expression plastered on his face, and you sigh with defeat. Backing off of him just a bit, but still draping your arms around his slim waist, you cast him a long thorough stare.

"What's so wrong now, Potter?"

"Hm?" he says, a small grin tugging at his lips. "Wasn't listening."

"Don't play. Answer the question," you demand softly, blowing the fringes of Harry's soft raven hair. "You heard me. And I don't want another scenario like what happened a few days ago."

"Okay, fine," Harry's gaze sets upon yours, and you can't help but lean in again for another taste. Brushing his lips slightly, you back up again, satisfied.. for now. "Somethings just been on my.. er.. mind."

"What?"

"Just thinking.." he says, his expression deepening. "Just about Hermione... and all."

"You're thinking of Granger at this time?" you scoff, surprised at his confession. "So is Granger what goes through you head when I do this?" Leaning down, you crush Harry's lips under yours, adrenaline coursing in your every action and reaction to his warmth. A slow blush creeps into his soft cheeks as you back away, a wide smirk playing your lips.

"No, of course not." he smiles and a quick jump start heightens you at the sight. "I was just wondering about her.. and.. you know how she's doing. I mean, Ron is upset and he's getting really annoying. He's always whining about having to share himself, which is funny. 'Cause he's always complaining about how I'm always the one he has to share with Hermione. Doesn't that sound wrong? I mean, Ron's probably not in love with me even though he said it like he was. And I think he likes--"

"Potter," you say in a haste whisper, placing your face against his warm cheeks.

"What?" he whispers back, leaning into your touch.

"Shut up."

**x.x.x.x.x**

"Remember, tonight, ten sharp." Granger said, her tone very much like McGonnagal.

"Sure, Granger. Remember to get me some protection." you smirk, satisfied at your insult. You watch as her cheeks burned with a angry blush. Her low growl could be heard, but it only pleased you even more.

"Shut up, Malfoy." she mumbled, turning her face from your amused stare.

"What? Extra protection is good." Granger's face scrunched in disgust. "My wand is big, but still, you need it."

"Malfoy!"

Laughing, you wave her off. "Don't worry, Granger. I'll do my patrolling duties tonight."

"Good, you'd better not back out like you did last time." Granger started to walk away, her honey brown curls bouncing elegantly behind her. But only a few feet away, she stopped. "Malfoy?"

"Hm?"

She hesitates, her fingers fiddling with the strap of her backpack. "I saw you two together.. at the library a couple of days ago."

"Who?" you ask, but you know she is talking about Harry.

"What are you doing to Harry?" she almost growls, her hesitant expression suddenly changing into an angry mother tiger's. "I don't know what you're up, Malfoy, but whatever it is, it better not be hurting Harry."

Anger drilled in your chest at the sound of her words. What gave her any right to blame you, to accuse you for hurting Harry, when it was all her fault. When the one who was actually hurting him was her. That you were the one that had to pick up the broken pieces of Harry, and placed them back only for them to be broken again.

"I thought you and Potter were history." you say with a sneer, distaste clearly written in your features. "Rumours have it you no longer cared for your precious Harry Potter."

Her brown eyes darkened, her lips quivered slightly and she took in a ragged breath. "Harry and I.. we.. I still love him. It's just we're going through some.. problems."

"Then fix your damned problems with him before you come and start accusing me." you turn, your back facing her.

"That's going to be hard," she whispers, probably not meant for your ears too.

Your face turns to face her, "Maybe not. Harry is very forgiving."

**x.x.x.x.x**

A few days later, Harry is smiling jubilantly, his little enthusiasm seemed to have grown a few inches. His cheeky grin danced in your sight, giving you a very happy feeling that could give Harry's gorgeous eyes a run away from their riches.

"I reckon you and Granger have made up." you say, raising your eyebrows at his unfaltering smile. He nods, picking up his Potion's textbook and plopping down loudly in the library chair. "Any.. make-up sex, eh?"

Silence reigned for a while, as Harry's expression stayed still frozen. Then without warning, a book made contact with your forehead, it's smooth leather side swaying in your vision.

"What? What'd I do?"

"Everything." He grinned wider, burying his nose in his textbook, looking freakishly intimated by the Snape-taught subject.

"Whoa, Potter, have you gone mental?" you say in awe. "You're reading your potions book!"

"Soo?" his voice still bearing the wide grin.

"So.. you're mental!"

"Don't be silly. This isn't my potions book!" You look closer, indeed it was his potions book.

"You've gone completely mental." you sit back, crossing your arms across your chest and taking in his form. He looks back at the book cover, his smile twitching somewhat.

He's going to explode, you think. But his smile only grew wider with his careless shrug. "Oh well, I guess I am reading potions."

"Either you've gone mental, or I've gone bonkers."

"It's you."

"Shut up."

* * *

_A/N:_ Nothing good in this chapter. Just some aweful fluff and shitzys. Yep. If you e-mailed me or anything.. I won't get it until my damned computer is fixed. I can't get onto MSN or hotmail AT ALL. Geez, stupid technology.

Anyways, thanks for the reviews guysss! -gives hugs and kisses and 919657464 monopoly money.-


	4. Confusion creates Chaos

_Disclaimer:_ I only own my can of Root Beer.

_Warning:_ Slash. OOCness. **Chaos and confusion.**

_A/N:_ Woo hoo, I got my computer fixed! And I also got some reviews! Thanks guys!

This chapter is very confusing. But it's suppose to be that way seeing as everything is starting to go crazy.. intentionally and unintentionally. Hah.

* * *

"Mister Malfoy,"

Looking up you see the ugly face of your godfather.

"Yes, Professor Snape?"

"We need to talk."

Smiling slightly, you wave secretly to the Gryffindor as he walks away, giving you a slightly worried expression. Returning your gaze back to the older man, you see the dislike in his eyes, trailing after the closed door. Potions class was over and so were the end of classes.

"Talk about what, Sev?"

You wanted to get this over with. The excitement of meeting Harry again was drilling in your chest. You knew it was unhealthy to think about the boy all the time, thinking of touching him, kissing him. It was very unhealthy, yet it felt _too_ right.

"Come, Draco." Snape spun around, black ropes billowing at the dramatic turn. "We have important matters to discuss."

Sighing, you follow the man, greasy hair flying with each heavy step he took. Walking into his private chambers, you feel the instant change of temperature. It was warmer, but one look at the decor in the room, shivers had run a marathon through your spine.

He turns around again, his wand raised directly at you.

The door closes behind.

Snape looks at you, his black eyes piercing into your figure and you want to run, fearing what your godfather will do. There were never many times youare afraid of the man. But something about the look in his eyes sent you diving into that pool of dreaded anxiety. Instead, you tense, making yourself higher and pushing all fear away.

"What," the deep voice broke the tense silence between you and him "are you doing with Potter?"

_Nothing but him._ Of course those words did not escape you lips, but those did form in your thoughts. "Why would I have anything to do with Potter?"

You try your best to put the sneer in your words, but you know it did not fool Snape.

"Don't lie to me, Draco." Snape walked slowly to his desk, sitting down onto the plush black leather chair and motioning for you to sit. You sit slowly in the other chair across from him, falling into the softness of the cushioned chair. "I see clearly you and Potter have formed some kind of... relationship, I suppose?"

"We're just friends." He gives you a peculiar eye, and you pray to the Gods he would believe you. "We formed a truce."

"Truce? Why a truce?" He leans back, his gaze still set frozen on you. It made you uncomfortable as his eyes pierced through your own, sending its scorching fiery gaze. His voice rumbled with slight malice and disappointment. Typical for the most hated professor in Hogwarts.

"Potter and I found our childish antics annoying," you lean back in your chair too, trying to give him an equally fire-filled stare. "We _are_ sixteen, and have matured. It's foolish to continue with our useless bickering."

"Your father will not like this." Snape said, rubbing his temples. This gave the man a weary look, all the day's events rushing into his pale face. "He will not tolerate this."

Your lips twitched, wanting to put on a growl as a trickle of anger slipped inside you. It was always about your father. Always Father will not like that. Father will not be proud of this. Father hated everything and anything that would bring negative ideas thrown to the name of a Malfoy.

You allowed him to teach you his ways, to hold onto his every word and idea. He wanted you to grow up with power in scripted in your mind, pride written in your soul and a pure heart of nothing but Malfoy.

You were judged by a scale so heavily weighted.

But you only grew up, hating the every aspect of his mental written laws, everyday holding something new against his acts. You wanted to be your own being. Yet, everything you did, somehow bounced back to your father.

It was a never ending track.

"I thought Father would be less bothered. I _have_ been in trouble many times because of Potter." Indeed that was true. You have been put in danger more times than anyone would have thought. Your attempts of revenge backfired often, sending you diving into your own consequences.

Now there was no reason to be put in detention. No reasons for your father to scold you, going on about the pride of a Malfoy.

"Yes, you have Draco." He gives you a disapproving look and you smirk half-heartedly. "But your father will not be keen on this new friendship with Potter."

"He wanted me to befriend Potter. Why wouldn't he like this?" The train ride before first year, your father had told you to form a relation with Potter. That was what he wanted from you, and of course, your good grades.

"He won't like it, Draco." Snape said firmly, his eyes flashing a dangerous threat. "It was what he wanted before. Potter has grown; he's on Dumbledore's side."

"Well… wouldn't Father want me to manipulate Potter?" you ask, uncertainty etched inside of you. You did not want to manipulate, or pretend. This _thing_ with Potter was too special in a way; in a way you could not explain. Notto anyone. Maybe even not to yourself."I could do that…"

"No, Draco." He places folds his hands together, his stare unwavering.

Your eyes travel to your own hands folded in your lap, slightly confused at why your father would not like this.

"Wasn't this what he wanted in the first place?" A soft sigh escaped from Snape's thin pale lips. "I don't understand, Sev."

"Lucius wanted you to befriend the boy in first year because Potter knew nothing about the wizarding world. He wasn't in Gryffindor. He didn't know about the Dark Lord." Your eyebrows knitted together, something spinning in your mind. "He didn't know what was wrong and what was right."

You suddenly jump to your feet, a new knowledge overwhelming you, forming rapid questions in your head. Confusion and anger hit each other furiously.

It was all so sudden it scared you.

"Tell me," Snape stared, slight curiosity perking up his features. "Tell me."

"Tell you, what, Draco?"

The incredible feeling, the realization, the confusion ran miles, creating chaos with everything that was in your mind. How come this has never reached your mind before? When have you ever pondered on those things before? Why have you not thought of the obvious?

What was right?

And what was wrong?

**x.x.x.x.x**

You don't remember throwing the door open, ripping the locking charms in a way that was impossible without your wand. You don't remember striding quickly through the corridors, your breaths coming heavy and fast. You don't recall hearing your name being shouted, urging you to come back. You do not remember standing in front of the Gryffindor portrait, your heart pounding, fists clenched.

You do remember the rage inside of you. The entropy that controlled your mind, ridding sense from existence. You needed all things with sense to be put back together; to be placed back in their rightfully assigned states.

You stare at the napping portrait of the Fat Lady, picturing precisely what was behind that door; who was exactly behind that door.

The clutter ripped through your chest, heaving mixes of confusion and pain that gripped tightly at your ribs. The utter sense of understanding was gone from you. Everything seemed to collide and mush together, forming a huge ball of holy mess.

You wanted to enter the portrait, see the mob of thick black-hair. You wanted to be lost in those forests you called his eyes. You wanted to leap into his warmth, the soft caressing of fluttered emotions all directed to one being.

Maybe then, everything will become clear.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" a familiar voice sliced the still silence. You turn around to catch the flamboyant colour of red hair. A snarl instantly fell upon your lips like second nature.

"None of your business, Weasley." You spat, bitterness dripping from your words. You know that it didn't come out right as you find his gaze directed at you skeptically, a knowing smirk forming; something a Weasley should never be able to do. You look back at the portrait, half desperate to feel that person.

Knowing Weasley, it was impossible to meet Harry now. You suppressed your slight erratic breathing down to shallow gasps, and start to walk away from the portrait. But a hand stops you.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Away from you, if that's what you're wondering." You snarl back at him, shrugging off his sweaty grip. "Now if you don't mind, Weasley… I'd like to leave."

Stepping again, you feel his hatred flowing freely from his form, and you feel your need growing stronger; the panic inside of you crying for calm.

"Hey," a slow breath descends from above, the seething hotness trailing down you neck. Suddenly a loud thud echoes through the silence, the pain flowing steadily to your head and your back. Tight fists full of your cloak drags you to the height of the red head.

Raging oceans clashed against ice cold glaciers.

You feel the hard wall against the dull thud of pain that traveled in you body. And the numbness of you jaw follows as a strong fist is shoved at your face. It takes you a few moments to retaliate, but when you do, rage controlled your actions.

You spread the balance of emotions and physical contact evenly; the boiling fury growled hungrily and sighed in relief as your fists hit the taller boy. The surging anger inside of you filling your conscious as the fight grew heated.

"What the fuck, Weasley?" you punch him again, square in his stomach and receiving a low moan of pain. He wipes off your smirk by a hard blow to the jaw again, clashing the bruise you already had before.

This fight was unnecessary. It had no meaning, no words to explain your actions and his. But as each painful moan, each time your body was hit, each time your fist contacted with seething hot skin, you felt somewhat of your previous chaos disappear. You find yourself putting effort in making pain and experiencing the pain.

It felt good.**

* * *

**

_A/N:_ Not one of my best chapters because this one was so hard to write. I think the talk with Snape and Draco was a bit too unrealistic and OOC. And I think it moved too quickly for my liking.. oh well. I read it over five million times but I just can't put my finger on what I'm missing. I'm really disappointed. Blah.

Anyways, REVIEWS! Man, I loved them all very much! I felt really really good reading them.

_What Love Is:_ I think I get what you mean by that metaphor thingie.. though not really. Ohk, I still don't get it. Excuse my lack of smartness. (boooo hooo)

_LadyDragonWolfKnight: _Harry's a hard character to write. He changes so much in the books because of all the events that happen to him. And I also clash the FanFiction Harry to the JK Rowling Harry. Heh, yes, Granger is smart in school, but she isn't so much in believing herself. :P

_Miss. Gaunt:_ Damn, you're too kind. (blushes)

_Snake Tamer:_ Obsessed? Wooooooooooow. Come to think of it, Draco does shift emotions too quickly. Aw man.. well I'll fix it somehow. Thanks for the tips!

Thanks guys for reviewing! I love you all SO MUCH! (gives thousands of hugs)


	5. Chaos Reigns

_Disclaimer:_ If I wrote the Harry Potter series, I'd be a hell lot better of a writer.

_Warning:_ Slash, Violence, Confusion, Lack of skill.

_A/N:_Ah, yet another weird chapter. I'm not so happy with this one. As the story's plot thickens, it gets harder to write it out.

Well, hopefully I didn't disappoint you guys too much. Enjoy!

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Fists slam against hot flesh. The numbness after each blow thumping along with your erratic beating heart. Crimson blood, seeping out of broken skin. The crack of knuckles and the energy bursting with each impact. The adrenaline pumping through your system.

Somehow, these actions pushed each broken piece of mind to a far corner. Your task was to cause pain and to feel it.

Nothing else mattered.

A whoosh of air escapes your lungs as Weasley punches your chest and with fast seeker reflexes, you punch him back, square on the head. The fire in his cheeks burned with the added fuel from your hit and you smirk.

"Is that all you have, Weasley?" you are in control now as you grab the red hair, pushing the gangly body down, kneeling. Your faces are inches apart, his uneven breathing cooling your hot skin. "You wanted a fight, you've got it."

"Shove off, Malfoy," he growls, raising his fist but you catch it before he connects it with you. Your arm struggles with his force as it shakes and you kick him, causing him to double over with pain; falling to the floor. You kneel down, gathering again the strands of fire between your fingers.

"You wanted it. Don't tell me to shove off." You yank harder at his hair, anger drilling at your chest. "You wanted this."

"W-what the bloody hell are you talking about?" Weasley says between gasps. His eyes are wide and confusion fills the bottomless ocean. But you shake it off; this was all an act. "_You_ started this!"

"I did not, Weasley," you nudge him in the ribs, annoyed at his lack of responsibility. "Stop acting innocent."

"Fuck you,"

"Go fuck your Mudblood lover," and you rise, letting him soak in his whirlwind of hatred and shame. He tries to get up, his breathing coming out in quick runs. There is a second where you hear his breath hitch, his eyes' shine disappearing and the movements of his body freeze.

But just as it comes, it passes out with another flush of fury.

"Y-you… you bloody g-git!" blocking again his attempt to punch, you push him down again, his head hitting the hard floor.

"Look Weasley," you nudge his side again, pushing the tip of your black dress shoes in his gut. It was a shame the polish leather had to be stained with Weasley germs. "You clearly have some problems with taking responsibilities."

"I…I don't," he takes a long breath through his teeth, cringing in pain as you dig your heel in his stomach. "You bloody started this! Now... stop... it!"

You kick him one last time, a loud yelp escalating from his throat. "I've had enough, Weasel." You turn around, hands shoved in the pockets of your robes and you start to walk.

A few steps later earn you a hoarse voice you hardly hear, "_You'll be coming for more, Draco_."

You spin around, shock and confusion at the words you have just heard. But the site of Weasley knocked out on the floor is all you see.

Maybe it was your imagination.

Your footsteps echo against the floor of the stairs, the creak of a moving stairway alerts your attention to your left.

"Hey, Drake!" Blaise is on the tip of the stairway, hanging on for dear life as the stairs skid to a halt. "What brings you here? Did you want a share of beating the little Gryffindorks? Eh?"

"Not now Blaise," you keep walking, your mind still spinning from the chaos that had happened just a few minutes ago.

"Drake, you okay?" Blaise's voice booms in your ear and you step away. He was getting irritating and it wasn't like you needed more annoyance at this time. "You're bleeding."

"I'm aware I am." The taste of coppery blood and the air staining your open wounds were far from your initial worries. You ponder whether to head to the Infirmary or just go and try to find Harry. Either way, you'd be in a lot of trouble.

The previous disaster was slowly creeping up from the back of your mind, slowly coming to your dull senses and sharpening them. The confusion stepping closer, and making your brain wheel with questions.

Your long strides are in tune with Blaise's own and you find it annoying he is still beside you.

You stop sharply, turning to his direction and giving him the most malicious stare you could muster in the current situation.

"Is there _something_ you need?" you hiss between your teeth. He smiles, taking your question as an invite to smother you with more annoyance from his being.

"Well, I am rather bored," he fingers his chin and you take a deep breath, urging down the appetite to rip him apart. "Pansy is ignoring me… do you think it's 'that time of the month' again? Crabbe and Goyle are busy stuffing their fat arses… typical. And Millicent is grooming that wild fur ball she calls a cat. So basically, no one is available and I'm bored!"

"Well could you be bored someplace else?" You walk again and he jumps to your side, his smile gleaming with slyness.

"Oh, c'mon! I'm so bored!"

"I'm not bored," you turn a sharp corner, heading to the Slytherin dungeons "And I don't care if you are."

"But Drac—"

"_Silencio!"_

**x.x.x.x.x**

"Dammit Potter, where have you been?" you lean into his warm exterior, his lips praying for them to be kissed. "I've been looking for you all yesterday and today."

Lips brushing, your desperate desires were soon going to vanish and be filled with the bliss of being touched. But a strong hand pushes you away and your eyebrows knit together with disappointment and confusion.

His eyes are set in a determined stare. The brilliance of his angry green eyes only sets your avid thirst to even higher heights. "I've been with Ron."

"Oh."

The angry eyes no longer seem intriguing.

"What's your problem, Malfoy?" he steps forward, angry red roses blooming in his cheeks. "Why did you start that fight with Ron? What did he ever do to you?"

"I didn't start that bloody fight!" you growl in frustration. Why was it always your fault? "He started it! _Weasley_ jumped _me!_"

"Don't be a lying prick, Malfoy!" Harry pushes you harshly, your back slamming into the wall. "You did it! You're the one to blame! I know Ron can be dangerous at times. But he'll only be dangerous if _you_ offend him first!"

"I didn't offend him!" Frustration swam freely in your mind, anger creeping slowly behind. "I told you, I—didn't—start—it!"

"Shut up, Malfoy. I know what you did." He pushes you one last time, hatred clear in his eyes but reluctance was also evident. "I don't need your stupid excuses. I _know_ what happened."

He starts to walk away from the dark corridor, his steps heavy with his anger; your desire tugging at your sleeve eagerly with annoyance.

"Potter, don't walk away from me!" you walk briskly to his side, and grabbing his arm, you fling his face towards you. "I didn't do it! Why won't you believe me?"

He struggles, but your hold is too strong on him. You want to ravage him. Violent fervor was beating at your whole being from the site before you. The warmth of Harry's body and yours mingling and it drove you to states of hot ecstasy.

But his eyes were avoidant, and that ruined everything.

"Let go!" He tries to push you, kick you, anything, but your whole body is pressed hard against his.

"No," you half hiss. "You have to listen to me!"

"I have and all you're saying is you didn't do it!" he continues to struggle, his smaller figure useless against your taller one. "But I know you did, Draco. Don't be a stupid git!"

"How would know? You weren't even there!"

"You did! Zabini—"

"I didn't do it!" You remember the bottomless blue eyes, how they seemed so hollow. You remember the sharp intake of unnatural breath. You remember the heavy voice whispering about more.

And you remember just how scared you actually were.

"Listen! Weasley… something's messed up about him. He's—"

"_You_ messed him up!" he shouts, his voice overpowering the soundless corridor. "If you didn't start that fight, he wouldn't be hurt! Just because you have nothing better to do, it doesn't mean you can go around hurting people! Y-you son of a bit—"

Horror is the immediate reaction as he cringes in pain. The anger-ridden face changing into a contorted cast of livid agony. One hand scratching at the skin of his forehead and one clutching tightly at your arm.

His screams soon followed.**

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_A/N:_ Bah, Drake and Harry's fight was weird. I think I'm getting writer's block again, since while writing this chapter, I found it extremely hard to think (Damn school.).

_shayacatalystcifigirl:_ I've never read that story before. I haven't been reading anything other than fanfiction and Harry Potter for a while.. hehe. And yes, Harry is being a little.. okay, VERY melodramatic. He's just a really complex character to write (for me...).

_Elion:_ Awwwww! Thanks! My story has substance! (dances)

_What Love Is:_ Hehe, I was thinking the exact thing while writing that line.

Thanks guys for the AWESOME reviews!They got me feelin' gooooooddd.


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